“Do you know anyone who might enter your home without permission?” the officer asked.
I shook my head.
“No.”
But Mia spoke softly from the couch.
“The cable man came last week.”
Both officers turned toward her.
“What cable man?”
“He said he was fixing the internet.”
My blood ran cold.
Because I remembered that visit.
A technician from a service company had come to check the router in Mia’s room.
He had been upstairs alone for nearly twenty minutes.
The officer nodded slowly.
“We’ll be contacting that company immediately.”
Later that night, after Mia had fallen asleep beside me on the couch, I stared at the device the police had photographed.
The mattress had felt “tight” because the hidden equipment was pressing upward beneath it.
And the movement I saw on the camera hadn’t been anything supernatural.
It was the small mechanical motor inside the device activating its recording function.
Which meant something far worse than a broken bed had been happening inside my daughter’s room.
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